Slings and Stitches
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Everyday dealing with injuries. Turtle OT4. Dedicated to my troll on Casting Stones into the River. I'll write another ficlet for each flame you sling at me, so keep it up. Turtle slash fans everywhere rejoice at your efforts.


**Slings and Stitches **

by KC

**Summary**: Just everyday dealing with injuries. Turtlecest OT4

**Other info**: Written in response to an anticest flame on Casting Stones into the River. I'll write another ficlet if I get another flame 3.

**oOoOo**

The slice along Michelangelo's arm came from the edge of a wire fence-Leonardo stitched it and hoped there wouldn't be an infection. Tetanus scared all of them-the vaccine was hard to steal and they could only pray it worked on their phisiology. He exchanged a look with his little brother and read the worry in his eyes.

"Raph'll stay up with you," Leonardo promised. "If you start feeling anything, we'll go out immediately."

Michelangelo nodded quietly. Going out meant getting in the van and heading to the nearest public clinic for a smash and grab. Nothing scared them as much as a common infection. Blood poisoning, gangrene, hidden sicknesses that didn't show symptoms until it was almost too late to treat them...

It seemed so stupid to fight aliens and ninja, and then nearly lose one of them to infection. Half a year ago, they almost lost Raphael. For all his size, he had seemed so small and weak while wracked with wave after wave of convulsions. Each shudder choked off his breath, and he arched so badly that he nearly cracked his bones against the edge of his shell. The antibiotics had come almost too late. After that, they usually kept a batch of it in the refrigerator but they'd run out of it a week ago.

"How's the drama queen doing?" Raphael asked, limping in. White gauze wrapped around his ankle and knee, holding ice in the bandages against his joints.

"Better'n you, gimpy," Michelangelo grinned. "I thought we taught you how to jump. Instead you just go hurling yourself out of windows."

"Yeah, well, it saved your ungrateful ass," Raphael says, punching Michelangelo's shoulder. "Duck or dodge next time-don't just stand there and let 'em hit ya."

"Wouldn't of had to if you'd gotten out faster," Michelangelo said. "Sucks when you gotta cover the slowest guy coming out."

Michelangelo did his best to ignore Leonardo as his big brother cleaned gravel out of his scraped hand. To his credit, Michelangelo didn't make a sound as the dirt came out and the tepic water washed it clear. When he saw the alcohol, though, he winced and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut.

Instantly Raphael was at his side, one arm around him, his hand cupping Michelangelo's face. He whispered something in his ear, Michelangelo nodded, and then Leonardo quickly swabbed the alcohol over his hand, disinfecting it.

Stiffening at how it stung, Michelangelo whimpered before he could swallow the pain. Neither of them teased him, and if he'd opened his eyes, he would have seen them wincing in sympathy.

"Keep an eye on him," Leonardo said, standing slowly. "Don't go to bed for awhile."

"Gotcha," Raphael said, then quickly reached out and grabbed Leonardo's arm as his big brother swayed. "Whoa, you sure you can make it?"

Leonardo nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Just tired. Haven't slept since we started."

"That's why we take turns keeping watch," Raphael grumbled. "So we can get some sleep. What's the point otherwise?"

"I know," Leonardo said, not arguing. "Can't help it. I couldn't believe any of you actually slept inside Foot headquarters."

"You said yourself they'd never find us in the ducts," Raphael said, but with the tired air of an old argument. Fearless was just too stubborn sometimes. "Go to bed?"

"Yeah." Leonardo gave Michelangelo one last look, telling himself that his little brother would be all right and that Raphael would keep a good watch over him. Then he carefully made his way out, one hand on the wall to hold himself steady as he went to Donatello's room.

He yawned again, this time so strongly that his eyes watered. As he walked, his head felt too warm. The floor warped underfoot, and he leaned completely against the cool stone wall.

"I'd carry you if I could," Donatello said softly. "But..."

Smiling despite himself, Leonardo turned his head just enough to see Donatello from the corner of his eye. His brother smiled back, creasing the gauze around his eye, and gingerly held his left arm.

"I'm just tired," Leonardo said again. "You shouldn't be up."

Donatello shrugged. "It's a bone bruise. Put it in a sling for me?"

"What was Raph doing?" Leonardo grumbled, finally pushing away from the wall and dragging himself inside. "Thought he was taking care of that for you."

"He got my head to stop bleeding," Donatello said. "And then he heard Mikey crying."

Their little brother's voice carried from his room. "I wasn't crying-ow! Raph!"

"Shaddup and lie down," Raphael growled.

Rolling his eyes, Donatello took Leonardo's arm and tugged him away from the doorframe before he stumbled into it. Inside his bed was already rumpled, ready to flop into, as long as they didn't mind the old blood stains.

"You aren't seeing blurry, right?" Leonardo asked out of habit. He picked up the sheet Donatello had already tossed on the mattress and folded it into a large triangle.

"It's not a concussion," Donatello said as he sat down. The mattress dipped but didn't squeak-he'd pulled all the springs and stuffed it with blankets to make do until he found a decent futon again. "The cut didn't even need stitches."

"Good thing," Leonardo said. "My hands are starting to shake. I wouldn't trust myself with a needle again tonight."

Tucking his arm, Donatello patiently waited for him to pull the sling around him, knotting it at his shoulder. He let his arm go limp and breathed deep in relief. Bad enough having a bone bruise, but holding it up was torture in itself. The sling was almost as good as the giant ibuprofen pills they'd stolen from a dentist's office.

"You didn't take a hit to the head, did you?" Donatello asked. He put his hand against Leonardo's forehead, then felt his throat. "Mm. You're hot."

"Love you, too," Leonardo said, but his voice was starting to turn scratchy. "I think it's from being inside that duct. The air hit me more than the rest of you."

"Then you get the Nyquil," Donatello said firmly. "And you'll get the chicken soup tomorrow for breakfast."

"Man..." Leonardo didn't argue-no one argued with that tone of voice-but that meant he'd also have to go out and steal more cans of chicken soup later. Michelangelo might have been able to pull it off, but with his stitched hand, he'd be way too noisy.

"Worry about it tomorrow," Donatello said, softening his tone with a kiss. "For now, sleep."

Nodding once, Leonardo followed him onto the mattress, stretching beside him and resting his head on Donatello's shoulder. Only as he relaxed did he notice his headache, but he was too tired to be bothered getting up again and finding the painkillers, if they even had any left. He let his eyes half close and drowsed, loathe to sleep until he was sure Michelangelo wasn't sick, that Donatello wasn't mistaken about a head injury, that-

"Stop worrying for one night," Donatello slurred, almost asleep. "Go to sleep."

Irritated, sighing in annoyance, Leonardo closed his eyes and immediately drifted off.

End


End file.
